


The Quiet of C2H6O

by FlusteredWordsmith



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-10 08:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1157537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlusteredWordsmith/pseuds/FlusteredWordsmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another night approaches, forcing the Courier and his travel-weary companion to come to a halt and rest in another deserted town. They decide to take residence in the last building they search: a dusty bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Quiet of C2H6O

"This one looks deserted too," I whispered solemnly. This would be the last building in the small town on the list, not a soul to be seen. Just another set of post-apocalyptic ruins. I ran a hand along the faded beech of the circular counter that hogged up one wall and snatched up a foggy, thick beer mug. My ally took special interest in this particular establishment, and I knew only too well that if it held anything that could hold it to its name, she would be sure to make good use of it. Not often did we come across abandoned bars, especially ones in such pristine condition. The front door had been boarded and covered with so much wreckage and planks that we almost missed the shop entirely. A small grunt and the tingle of glass sounded as my companion reached over the counter-top, reeling in a couple bottles of shimmering amber, eye-catching in the dusty beams of dusk light.

I sighed, knowing well the poisonous treasure buried here would mark tonight's camp. She only gave a cheery smile as she flicked the whiskey decanter open and sipped it straight, plopping herself on a stiff stool. My wandering eyes marveled the bob of her throat as she tucked the intense liquid away without a sign of stopping. Of course she stopped within a second or two, she knew how to savor somewhat, though how anyone could stomach the stuff was beyond the comprehension of even my intellectually savvy mind. She had settled her straw hat next to an old ashtray, letting her short, fiery strands loom freely. I turned away, grinding the dust and grit in the floorboards with my soles, and began inspecting a glowing computer terminal dozing on one end of the counter.

My key-tapping fingers mixed with the occasional glass clink played as the only ambiance in the otherwise silent room. We both kept to each other quietly, even as the hours pushed the drops of sunlight away. This sort of calm silence between us occupied the bulk of our conversations. Sure, we talked about where we were headed, sometimes I told her about my past, sometimes we talked a little about her life, but mostly we hovered in comfortable silence. Sometimes I wondered if it was because we understood each other so well, but I doubted that. For a couple of young wanderers that spent so much personal time together, we really had little in common.

I aided those in need out of kindness, and she ran on her own gain. I rooted wordily for peace while she let her fists settle matters. I looked at her with eyes of longing, but she did not look back. Even now, as my eyes scanned the pale emerald of this monitor, my hands worked autonomously as my thoughts strayed to images of her flushed face. She wanted nothing to do with me in terms of romance, and the fact had been made verbally clear. She hated soft guys. At the time, the words meant little to me. From the start I had seen her as too loud, too improper for my tastes, too unpredictable.

My feelings shifted though. Before my accident, I vaguely recalled that I may have hounded after girls like her, successfully even. Maybe that bullet really did manage to leave some irrevocable damage, everything these days just feels fast and fuzzy. But this girl, she grew on me, opened up to me without realizing it. The hurt she expressed at the loss of her caravan, the passionate respect shown for her comrades, a sincerity never before witnessed by myself in these dry and heartless wastes.

"You are such a nerd," poked a giggle from my right. I smirked and set my glasses down on the counter with a tiny patter, she's hit the bubbly stage quick today. I turned back to her and admired the deep blush plastering her pale cheeks.

"It's just the glasses," I replied. "I actually have no idea what this gizmo-thingy is." I tapped a final key that sent the screen into a scrambled fit of pixels before a metallic chime cleaved the air from somewhere below the counter. "Oh, when you're finished with that, there's more in the safe beneath the bar."

Her steely eyes drifted lazily around and a sudden guffaw erupted from her when the alcohol finally allowed her to realize what had just occurred. She pinched the tip of a bottle between her fingers and swung it back and forth like a pendulum.

"Sure you don't wanna share this with me?" she asked.

"I don't think so," I laughed, knowing well that she predicted my answer like always. "You'd love to take advantage of me in a lesser state, wouldn't you?"

She snorted and downed another mouthful before setting the bottle down.

"Maybe we could actually have an interesting talk for once then," she groaned. "This stuff is supposed to bring out your true feelings."

This time my turn to scoff came up.

"You can't count on alcohol to reliably work in such a way," I spouted, trying my best to hold back on a full rant regarding brain chemistry. I propped my head up on my left elbow, gazing at her like some sort of daydreaming kid. "Everyone's affected differently."

Whether or not she knew what I said was never made clear. She set her head down on her folded arms, mushing her cheek as she stared back at me. Her glassy eyes seemed so fragile in the darkness, lit only by the greenish light resulting form a mixture of the terminal and shreds of moonlight. Even with my glasses off, I could see into their enrapturing abyss, undeterred.

"I know it's true for me," she mumbled in a tone shy of a whisper. I could not recall a time where her face shone so hotly. Did she have too much to drink?

"You have feelings?" I teased with a feigned gasp, attempting to hide my unease. "I guess the world really has ended."

"But even now," she moaned, shaking her head and flailing her hair. "I think it, but I can't do it."

She coughed up a dry chuckle. I took a deep breath and blew it out, I guess she has had too much tonight after all. It had been a while since our last stop at a place where she could drink so freely, so her body must have shed some of its alcoholic resistance. I eyed one of the few cushioned booths that leaned against an opposing wall.

"Cass," I stated, rising from my lumpy seat. "Come on, there's a nice little spot over there for you to sleep, I think you're done for the night."

Too many nights to count, I would find her at a bar with her unconscious form blanketing its flooring. I was left with the task of bringing her back to wherever we planned to hole up until daybreak. I'm positive that ninety percent of the mediocre muscle mass I've gained over this journey has been from carrying this sleeping beauty. I patiently stood over her as she stubbornly refrained from twitching an inch.

"C'mon Cass," I yawned irritably while I scratched at my stubble. "Before I'm too-"

"Should I..?" she muttered, straining my ears even this close.

She shifted and sat straight then, aiming her face up at me. Her eyes were no longer just glassy, but shimmered as pools that threatened to spill over. I almost jumped back at the alarming sight. For all our time stuck together, I have never seen such an emotional side of her. The most emotion I see her vent usually entitles a few slurred yells at an unsuspecting bartender. If she noticed the widened look of shock on my face, she made no hint of it, only staring back with those lovely, sad eyes.

"Should you what?" I uttered, feeling more vulnerable than she looked.

Her face began to grow larger and her eyes pulled me in, engulfing my vision. Too many feelings pounded over me within too little time. Fear, confusion, denial, want. Something firm and warm wrapped around the back of my neck, pulling to the center of the earth. Too close, I thought, she was much too close. A softness unlike any other pressured into my quivering lips, and I could taste the stinging dart of alcohol, violated by a smell that I always steered clear of, a smell that her hot breath burned with perpetually. I absorbed every last bit of it hungrily. My mind slipped into a state of instinct and pulled my eyelids closed. The flavor intensified as she greedily prodded the fleshy resident of her mouth into mine, uninvited, but nevertheless welcome.

The heat between our rapidly entangling limbs blossomed and fueled our lustful dance further. I placed a tender hand on the tip of her cheek, feeling her supple skin while she ravaged my scalp with probing fingers. I failed to anticipate her aggressiveness as she stood up and pinned my unsuspecting self against the counter with her mouth. She ground her entire being into me, trying her hardest to paste me against the counter. Had my mind not been so numbed with lust and my lips so preoccupied, I would have reveled at her strength.

With an abrupt sigh, she stopped. Her limp form pressed upon me, urged only by gravity, and her mouth slipped away lazily, halting with her cheek under my chin. Her breaths had transformed from sharp and hungry to deep and wistful. I stared up at the darkness of the ceiling, my own lungs still heaving for dusty air. Strange, how comfortable I felt with her soft weight and damp breath against my neck. I repelled any thought of moving, pleading that she not forget any of the night's events by the morning.

I could feel every deep beat of her heart against my own, and I willed the night to mercifully stretch on. The last wisp of thought that crossed my conscious before fatigue carried me away was whether or not my glasses had fared favorably after our bar-top tussle.


End file.
